


It Was A Very Good Year

by caliecat



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, Flash Fic, Future Fic, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caliecat/pseuds/caliecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve honors his traditions: past, present and future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was A Very Good Year

**  
_When I was seventeen..._   
**

Steve slips out the back door as the sun rises to a chorus of singing birds, careful not to awaken the rest of the household still sleeping upstairs. He cuts across the lawn, squeezes through the gap in the hedge and disappears into the woods, then follows the dirt trail until he reaches the quiet street in the next neighborhood. The late summer heat is already rising from the asphalt when he pushes off the curb to begin his daily ritual.

Each morning, he comes out here to remember.

This is his private time, his one chance to be alone with his thoughts without the carefully-worded questions and guarded looks of concern, all the well-meaning attempts at comfort that only serve to remind him of his loss.

 _His loss._

That's what everyone says, how he thinks of it now, too, so he doesn't have to hear the ugly words even in his own head.

Just four months since the accident and already he's starting to forget what she looks like, the sharp memory of her face fading like a color photograph kept too long in an attic. Once in a while his father calls, but the awkward conversations and painful silences only make him feel worse. He hasn't talked to Mary since they boarded separate planes for the mainland, doesn't know how to contact her even if he wants to.

Maybe it's easier this way, with no one to answer to, no one to disappoint.

He reaches the first intersection and stops to stretch his hamstrings and quads. It's still too early for traffic. The only sounds are the cicadas buzzing in the trees and a dog barking in the distance. He wipes the sweat from his eyes and heads down the cross-street, picking up the pace until he feels the breeze on his face and the burn in his muscles.

His feet slap the ground in a comforting rhythm: _left-right-left-right_. It feels good to move, to do something.

Even if it's only to run away.

 **  
_When I was twenty-one..._   
**

The sails snap in the quickening breeze and the rudder pulls against his grip as he steers a course through the mouth of the Severn River and into the Chesapeake Bay. He treasures times like this when he can steal away from the Yard in one of the small boats available to midshipmen and escape from the constant pressure of classroom sessions and training exercises, sharing his company and his memories with the ospreys and herons eyeing him from the riverbank.

Lights twinkle on in the shops and cafes lining the streets of Annapolis as evening draws near. The dim hum of voices drifts over the water from the throngs of tourists enjoying the perfect September weather. Behind him, the Naval Academy's Chapel Dome gleams against the orange sky, a beacon for generations of returning seamen.

First his grandfather at Pearl, then his father in Vietnam and now him, carrying on the long tradition of duty to family and country. He's proud to be here, proud to honor the sacrifices they made.

But as he rounds the buoys marking the harbor's entrance and glides into the open bay, he turns his back on his temporary home and faces west, toward the setting sun, toward his own personal mecca, wishing and hoping and longing for the day he can return to Hawaii.

 **  
_When I was thirty-five..._   
**

He stands in the middle of the study and slowly looks around, cataloging each familiar detail. So much has been replaced, from the bullet-ridden sheetrock on the walls to the cracked glass in the framed photos. Half the furniture is new, the wood floors refinished and all physical traces of what happened here erased.

But the memories remain.

The half-full bottle of Jack Daniels was tucked away behind Steve's high school football trophies on the bottom shelf of the credenza. He remembers when he was younger and his dad would pull it out for special occasions, treating himself to a glass or two whenever he closed a case or celebrated a win in court. So it's only fitting that it's part of today's rite of passage.

One year ago, John McGarrett died in this room.

He lifts the tumbler in a silent toast, takes a sip and savors the smooth smoky sweetness as it burns down his throat. His father wasn't perfect but he tried his best to balance the personal sacrifices and everyday compromises inherent in a cop's world. Steve understands that now. It's time to make peace with the past and move on.

One year ago, Danny Williams came into his life.

Despite the second shot of whiskey, his stomach flutters with nervous anticipation when he relinquishes the empty glass and heads into the kitchen to check on dinner. The table's set, the beer iced and the steaks trimmed and marinated. He makes three more circuits through the house to ensure mission-readiness before finally settling down to wait.

Everything has to be perfect. Danny will be here soon and there's something important Steve needs to tell him.

 **  
_But now the days are short, I'm in the autumn of my years..._   
**

He twists his wrist until the cork pulls free with a satisfying _pop_. From behind him Danny laughs, no doubt amused by his sentimentality.

Steve is the one who insists on breaking out the vintage wine each year on the anniversary of the day they met. This bottle is from the case they shipped over from Napa the last time they visited Mary in California. It's held up well, aging nicely in the makeshift wine cellar they built into the back of the garage.

He remembers the day they bought it at the winery after a long afternoon of vineyard-hopping up and down the valley, half-drunk in the cool stone-lined tasting room after sampling dozens of wines until finally deciding on this one. They argued about it good-naturedly, as they do about most things, Danny protesting against an extravagance they didn't need and what was wrong with a six-pack of Longboards anyway, Steve holding his position until Danny gave in.

Because he knows how important it is to mark the special occasions in your life, to cherish their sweetness and beauty before they disappear forever, living only in your memories. He learned that lesson a long time ago.

Danny slides around him, sets the glasses down next to the bottle and turns to him with a warm smile. He's aged too, they both have, but the blue eyes are still bright and clear, surrounded by the crinkles and laugh lines signifying a well-lived life. Even after all these years, Steve's heart twists in his chest whenever Danny looks at him that way. He can't resist pulling him in for a quick hard kiss, at first playful, soon shifting into something deeper as Danny's arms tighten around him and draw them closer together.

The soft lush voice of Sinatra floats through the air. A breeze stirs the curtains, bringing in the scent of flowers and the sea. Steve wonders for the thousandth time how he got so lucky.

It was a _very_ good year.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the hauntingly beautiful Sinatra classic, "It Was A Very Good Year"


End file.
